Cracking the Hardest Case: Jason Grace
by Salvo Gratia
Summary: In this story, I detail Jason Grace's life at Camp Jupiter from 10-13. He deals with leadership and loss of a friend. I will also introduce my original character, Aquila Masters-Grace. Aquila is Jason's adoptive mother at Camp Jupiter. More on her inside.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Jason Grace,

We regret to inform you that there was no match to your DNA. You don't exist.

Dear Jason Grace,

We regret to inform you that there is no Grace family.

Dear Jason Grace,

We regret to inform you that as of 12:24 P.M. Aquila Masters has been convicted of treason.

Dear Jason Grace,

We regret to inform you that you can't do it. Everything you've ever loved has slipped through your fingers.

Dear Jason Grace,

We do not regret to inform you that you are worthless. You have no life, you are depressed, depressing, lonely, suicidal, insane, bipolar and have no friends. You will never be anything.

From the deepest pit of our destroyed, shared soul, love the ones who make you miserable,

Your Voices


	2. Chapter 2

**I just wanted to say thank you to the people who read this fic for the first time! **

**Review: WithPaperAndPen**

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**And que...**

12 year old Jason Grace sat on his bed looking at old pictures on his laptop, reflecting upon recent events. The door creaked open, and the object of his nightmares padded in. It wasn't some horrible monster or an angry deity, it was Aquila the other person in the pictures. She stood just out of Jason's sight, not wanting to interrupt him. Jason knew she was there but he just sang under his breath, hoping that she would get the message.

_On the first page of our story the future seemed so bright. _The screen flashed to a picture that must've been taken by a legionnaire of him and Aqila hugging a few years ago. He remembered the day he put the dots together that she was the mole in Rome. The senate meeting, the silent tears, and the anger. _Then this thing turned out so evil, don't know why I'm still surprised. Even angels have their wicked schemes, and you take that to new extremes. But you'll always be my hero even though you've lost your mind. _

"Oh, little one." Aquilla placed her arms around his shoulders.

"I've made my peace, Miss 'Quila." he replied.

"I don't know how you could. No one should have to go through what you are."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Jason laughed maliciously.

"Little one, If there's anything I can do-"

"There isn't." he answered coldly.

"Jason, I need you to know that I love you. I messed up, and I'm so sorry." Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I know what I did was wrong. And I- I just wanted you to know that I am sorry."

"I know. You're not alone in your mistakes, Miss 'Quila. I messed up so bad, I won't ever forgive myself. I trusted someone. I strayed too far from the Roman way, and now I am paying dearly for it." He shook his head, trying to hold back tears. "I loved you, Miss 'Quila. You were my friend, my mentor." Jason's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "You were like my mom."

"I know. I wish more than anything that I could go back and change everything."

"I still love you. I always will."

"I've arranged it so that you don't have to kill me. So don't worry about this, focus on your duties."

"How?"

"You'll see. I've got to go."

"Bye." Jason felt like he was saying goodbye forever and it was breaking his heart.


	3. Execution

Time stood still for Jason as he walked into the arena. He stood facing the traitor, his sword drawn. There was one thing wrong with this scene of Roman justice. That traitor was his mentor. He closed his eyes and hefted the weapon into position. He made the mistake of opening his eyes a second before he swung; his eyes locked on hers, and she silently plead for mercy. He looked away, tears threatening to fall, and delivered the fatal blow. She fell, dead, and Jason dropped his sword and ran. He ran all the way out of the camp and into the mortal world. He fell to his knees, and as he gathered his thoughts, he wrote hastily in the small notebook that was always in his pocket.

_I am running. Running from the fear and desperation that stalks into my life; Running from whatever might be following me, whatever sick and horrid creatures the morbid human mind can conjure up, and running from myself, but for myself. My chest is in agony as the speed tears my breath from it. Running. I just have to get away. Running. Just what am I running from, again? The thought eats its way through my stinging veins like acid and I collapse from the exhaustion of my body, mind a mile ahead, running on. I am running from myself._

He let his tears stain the page as a lasting testament of the pain of betrayal, the emptiness of abandonment, and above all, the dangers of attachment. This is the Roman way. The way of survival.

"Give me a sign." He cried, looking at the sky. "Where do I go now? She was all I had, now I'm more alone than ever."

Then, a thought came into his head. _Don't pity the dead; pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. You can mourn them for a short time, but they would want you to carry on. Do not be one of those who lives without love, by doing that, you dishonor their memory. Live a life worthy of example, carry yourself with the pride of a leader, be a irreplaceable presence. Do not be who you think you should be, be who you are. _

"What does that mean?"

_You will know._ With that, the voice was silent.

Jason stayed out until dinnertime, where he was unusually silent and only picked at his food. After dinner, he retired to his room to finish paperwork, then fell asleep. This cycle continued, his friends hardly saw him smile, and he never laughed anymore. He was in essence, the perfect Roman. 


End file.
